Pills
by Arwen Jade Kenobi
Summary: We may think we're alright but we need pills to make it through the day [Implied HouseWilson slash]


**Title:** Pills  
**Author:** Arwen Jade Kenobi  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** Not Mine. No profit. Just for fun. Please don't sue.  
**Characters/Pairings:** House/Wilson  
**Spoilers:** Small allusion to "Resignation"  
**Summary:** We may think we're alright but we need pills to make it through the day.

The bottle of multi vitamins is sitting on the kitchen table. Wilson reaches for it and shakes one out without a thought. It's a massive orange pill and there is no way in hell he is taking it dry. House is standing by the fridge, chugging orange juice out of the carton. Wilson asks him for a glass of water since he's less than a foot away from the sink. It's a question asked purely for...actually, there is no reason for asking the question. He knows well enough that House will pretend he hadn't heard and go about his morning routine of eating his food, and Wilson's, and ranting about whatever was annoying him most this morning. This morning it was the fact that Wilson took multi vitamins.

"You're a doctor," Wilson shrugs as he gets his own glass of water. "You know it's generally a good idea to take a multi vitamin if you don't eat well enough."

"You eat well enough," House retorts as he snatches the rest of Wilson's bacon.

"I eat whatever you let me eat," Wilson amends as he stares at the new empty space on his plate.

"You don't need the multi vitamins."

"So what if I don't? It's not like they're doing me any harm." He takes the pill.

House abruptly limps out of the kitchen. In the quiet of the apartment the rattle of the Vicodin bottle is as loud as the television would be.

- - -

"What's rattling in your pocket?"

Wilson finishes chewing and swallowing his garden salad before replying that it's House's Vicodin he has in his pocket. He smirks a little when House actually slips a hand into his blazer to be sure the bottle is still there.

"Very funny," he remarks snidely. "Now what's in your pocket there?"

"Advil," Wilson replies.

House regards him suspiciously, like the CT scan he'd been staring at before Wilson had dragged him down for lunch. "How many did you take?"

"Two."

"Two four hundred milligram ones?"

"Yes, now why the hell does it matter?"

House stares at him with that frustrated expression he reserves for people who ask him questions to which they should already know the answer. "You don't take drugs for anything."

"I have a headache."

"You have migraines and I have to force feed you acetaminophen. Now here you are popping two Advil like candy."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "Yes I'm the road to becoming a junkie, House. Advil is a serious gateway drug, you know." His head is starting to pound again and he checks his watch. He can take another dose in about an hour. That should do it for the day. Hopefully.

Across from him, House is rubbing his thigh but makes no move for his blazer pocket. That only happens when there are more pressing and interesting matters at hand.

- - - -

Wilson tucks the bottle of Zoloft back into his desk. One pill has already found its way into Wilson's system while the other will soon find its way into House's. Again he ponders the intelligence and morality of dosing his friend with his own prescription. There's no other way, though. House would do the same thing to him in a heartbeat. That was really the part that cinched it. The spiked coffee stays where it is.

House still didn't know know Wilson took anti depressants. Or maybe he did and just wasn't letting on. No, Wilson thinks with a shake of his head, he probably hasn't figured it out yet. Hopefully he won't ever but Wilson knows he will. It's only a matter of time but Wilson will take that time. He'll take as much time as he can get.

Wilson's head is pounding again. He reaches for the Advil and takes two more, he'd held out a bit after lunch but the headache was getting quite intolerable. Seconds later House barges into his office in mid rant. Wilson pushes the coffee toward him without a word.

"How many Advil have you had today?" The remark is out of place with the previous rant about his patient that Wilson can't answer right away.

"Four," he answers after a moment, "and again I ask why it's any of your business."

House throws himself into a chair and starts rummaging through the patient's file Wilson had left over there. "You could be dying and you'd refuse treatment until it was too late. You're afraid of drugs because of what you think they've done to me – "

"I know you need yours, House," Wilson interjects. "This isn't about you."

"Haven't you learned that it's always about me?"

"Haven't passed that course yet," Wilson grumbles.

"You'll have to do it summer school then, and I won't make it easy for you."

The conversation devolves from there. They sip their coffee together and Wilson finds his head hurting a little less. Hopefully he won't need that third dose in four hours.  
- - - -

That night was a Matrix marathon. House was in an odd mood and was delighting far too much in mocking Keanu Reeves's acting skills and doing bad impressions of almost every cast member. The Merovingian was Wilson's personal favourite though. Something in the way that House perfectly exaggerated the French accent was what did it. It wasn't even a particularly good accent.

They're settling in for the night now. House is already in the bed, quite eager to call it a day. He reaches for his Vicodin, downs it, and without a word is on his side and waiting for the drug to kick in.

Wilson climbs into bed, reaches for his bedside table drawer and pulls out the sleeping pills he'd picked up on the way out of the hospital. The insomnia is annoying the hell out of him. The last thing he really wants is to rely on pills to sleep at night but here he is taking two to knock him out quickly and to keep him out. Wilson figures that even if the world ends in the middle of the night he won't wake up.

It may not be okay, it may not even be healthy, but it's as good as it's going to get for now. Unfortunately there's no pill for happiness and or instant solutions to long standing problems. At least not yet.

He shakes out two and then reaches for the glass of water on the table. As he settles back against the headboard he sees House staring at him. The sharp blue eyes regard both Wilson and the pills in Wilson's hand with utmost curiosity and severity. Wilson thinks he sees a glimmer of worry or concern in the depths of them but can't be sure of it. It's probably his imagination anyway.

Wilson raises his glass of water in salute. "Cheers," he says quietly before he tosses the pair of white tablets in his mouth and gulps the water down. House, for once, says nothing.


End file.
